


Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

by Obotligtnyfiken



Series: Chickens coming home to roost [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, Mary is Not Nice, Missing Scene, POV Mary Morstan, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-04 11:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12168012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obotligtnyfiken/pseuds/Obotligtnyfiken
Summary: “What is it that you want me to do?”“I want you to shoot me.”Missing scenes from His Last Vow, The Abominable Bride and The Six Thatchers





	1. Debt

**Author's Note:**

> Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary is a part of the series Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, as a sequel to A Better Class of Criminal and Liquid Nitrogen. It also belongs to the series Chickens Coming Home to Roost (see below).
> 
> It takes place during His Last Vow, The Abominable Bride and The Six Thatchers. To make sense of this fic, you need to have seen these episodes. If your memories are a bit vague, check the notes at the end of each chapter for the relevant information from the show.
> 
> It is inspired by the prompt “That wife ...” + "hiking boots" that I got from a friend.
> 
> The prompt is based on one of my “Moffat’s Chickens”: twelve ideas from the hiatus about what Steven Moffat could have meant when he said in an interview that chickens were coming home to roost in s4. Link for Moffat's Chickens: https://obotligtnyfiken.tumblr.com/post/138370350688/master-post-for-moffats-chickens
> 
> I do not own these characters. This work is for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> A big thank you to wetislandinthenorthatlantic help with the editing!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary takes place during His Last Vow, The Abominable Bride and The Six Thatchers. To make sense of this fic, you need to have seen these episodes. If your memories are a bit vague, check the notes at the end of the chapter for the relevant information from the show.

_September 15, 2014_

_After Janine visited Sherlock in the hospital_

Janine walked through the doors of the hospital and out onto the sunlit pavement with a spring in her step. Her headache from being knocked out in Magnussen's office was all but gone and teasing Sherlock for lying to her had been the most fun she had had in a long time. And the press interviews would certainly make Magnussen fire her any day now. She couldn't wait.

Going undercover had been horrible and Janine was dying to get back to managing behind the scenes again. When she had been her dear crazy brother Jim’s accountant, she had envied the agents who were out and about, but it turned out that the work was hopelessly dreary and dull. She was much better suited for her role as the new Moriarty.

She couldn't fathom Mary's enthusiasm for undercover work. On the other hand, Mary seemed to have gone completely native now. She had even gotten herself pregnant! She obviously had no intention of returning to her former alias, Amira. Not that Amira was her real identity either, Janine thought. Mary probably didn't even remember who she originally was.

 

…

 

Later that night, as Janine had just settled in to watch the evening news, Mary called, sounding more serious than ever before.

“Sherlock is onto me. He is setting a trap.”

“What are you talking about? I visited him today, he was drugged up and bedridden. He won't be setting any traps for a long time yet.”

“Well, he must have duped you then, because this afternoon, he escaped from the hospital and is missing. John and Lestrade are out looking for him.”

“Well, that is a surprise,” Janine said neutrally.

“You had him under surveillance when you were dating. Where do you think he is?”

Janine thought for a moment. “Go to the chinese restaurant on Whitecross and ask for Jimmy. He might have some tips for you.”

“Right, thanks.”

“You are welcome.”

“Oh, and Janine?”

“Yes?”

“This does not mean that we are even. You still owe me for that botched Magnussen job.”

“Fine. I owe you,” Janine said frostily. “But don’t get ideas above your station. I decide when and where.”

“I have to go.” Mary hung up without another word.

Janine put the phone back in her bag. She was a feisty one, Mary. Even if she had got herself stuck in suburbia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock went to Magnussen's offices to try to burgle him, he first found Janine unconscious after a blow to her head and then found Mary threatening Magnussen with a gun. When Sherlock didn't back off, Mary shot him. 
> 
> Janine visited Sherlock in hospital and told him about making so much money off selling interviews to the papers about their fictional sex life, that she had been able to buy a cottage in Sussex. 
> 
> After Janine's visit, Sherlock escaped from the hospital and set up the meeting in Leincester Gardens, where he tricked Mary into admitting that she had shot him, so that John found out directly from Mary.


	2. An idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary takes place during His Last Vow, The Abominable Bride and The Six Thatchers. To make sense of this fic, you need to have seen these episodes. If your memories are a bit vague, check the notes at the end of the chapter for the relevant information from the show.

_ December 28, 2014 _

_ After Sherlock shot Magnussen _

Mary grabbed a pillow to stuff behind her back and sank down on the sofa, toeing her shoes off at the same time. Even her old, soft ballerina shoes were getting too small now that her feet had started swelling. John would be home in an hour, thankfully. It was good to have him back. 

It had been a relief to get away from John’s anger for a while after that horrible night when Sherlock tricked her into confessing that she had shot him. John had turned into a tight ball of fury after that. But her belly was growing, it was getting harder and harder to get things done, and she was reluctantly being forced to ask for help with things around the house. And now her feet had started swelling into little balloons as soon as she stood up for more than five minutes. Thank God he had decided to return, even if he seemed a bit reluctant. 

Not only did she have John back, Mary thought contentedly, Sherlock had gone and shot Magnussen and was about to be sent away on a death mission. This was the best Christmas present Mary could have hoped for. No Magnussen, no Sherlock. This gave her a chance to get her life back where she wanted it.

Her original plan had been to get herself a comfortable, suburban life as a facade for her own criminal business venture, where she could be her own boss. She still thought it was a good plan, except that it had been getting increasingly difficult to get the pieces to fall into place, thanks to Sherlock Holmes.

When Jim Moriarty had asked her to infiltrate John Watson’s work place, it had seemed like the perfect opportunity to give normality a try. She hadn't expected to fall in love and she hadn't expected to get the opportunity to stay. Jim would never have allowed it, but when he shot himself in the head, a whole new world of opportunities opened up. Unfortunately, most of them quickly became impossible, as Janine stepped out of her role as Jim’s criminal accountant and seamlessly became the leader of the London criminal empire as if she had been born to do it. Maybe she had.

It had been disappointing to have independence so close that she could taste it, and then have it taken away. But at least Janine turned out to be, well, nicer than her brother. She let Mary be and allowed her to stay with John. 

Things got more complicated when Sherlock returned. Mary would have thought that Janine would make her leave at that point, but instead, she pushed Mary to remain with John and decided that they should become best friends so that she could be Mary's maid of honour at the wedding. When Mary saw her flirting with Sherlock at the reception, she understood why. It seemed that Janine had more in common with her brother than she wanted to admit. She kept saying that she was everything her brother was, except she had removed the drama and the crazy and added profit and security. In many ways, she was right. She did run a tighter, more lucrative ship than Jim ever did, but she had some crazy drama queen in her too. She had tried to stay in the background, but she was as addicted to danger as her brother had been. That much had become apparent when she decided to go undercover herself. A powerful but rather shady businessman wanted Charles Augustus Magnussen’s dead and Janine decided that placing herself as Magnussen’s PA was the best way to do the groundwork. 

When the time had come for the killing, Janine had called Mary. The call had come just at the right time, as the excitement around the wedding had died down and both she and John had started to get antsy. John was obviously missing Sherlock, and she was missing all kinds of things. An assassination job had seemed just the thing to get the adrenaline going.

It was supposed to be an easy get in, shoot, get out kind of job. The main excitement was scaling the high story building, which was something that Mary had always loved. Janine had been worried that Mary wouldn’t fit in her gear, which had made Mary bristle. She hated it when people assumed that she was an invalid because of her pregnancy. She barely even showed yet. 

As the undercover agent, it was Janine's job to pave the way, making sure that Magnussen’s dinner plans were unexpectedly cancelled and that both she and the bodyguard were conveniently called away. But when Mary had entered through the balcony door, the two of them were both standing next to each other, staring Mary in the face. Mary quickly hit the bodyguard over the head to knock him out quietly and he went down like a log. Then, when the first crisis was averted, she had heard the whooshing sound of the lift going up. Janine had looked at Mary and whispered “Sherlock! I had to let him up! I thought we all would be gone before you got here!”.

If Sherlock found Janine standing next to an unconscious body guard, her cover would have been blown and she would have been implicated in Magnussen’s death. Mary had made a split second decision and knocked out Janine too, a little more gently, thinking that should keep Sherlock occupied long enough to allow her to get the job done. She would have to find another way out, but she had already planned for that eventuality. 

Mary had slipped into Magnussen’s bedroom and pulled her gun. The room was empty, but the door to the bathroom was ajar and light was spilling out onto the carpet.

Magnussen had come out of the bathroom, not looking up until he had rolled his sleeves down and buttoned his cuffs. Seeing Mary, he had immediately fallen to his knees and started babbling nonsense, inexpertly trying to sway her. She should have killed him instantly, but, for the first time in her career, she had frozen. The sound of John and Sherlock talking downstairs, Sherlock’s footsteps on the stairs and Magnussen’s unexpected plea had made her head spin and her heart beat in panic. And then, Sherlock had come in, pompously preaching about not wearing perfume. Mary had been overwhelmed with hate and anger at this self-important, arrogant man. The world had narrowed down to her and him, all thoughts of John and Magnussen gone. His condescending “No, Mary, you won't.” when she threatened to kill him was the last straw. He had taken one step forward and she had shot to kill. 

As she fled through the upper corridor, she had felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Sherlock was dead! Her future suddenly seemed full of possibilities again. 

It wasn’t until she was back down on the street that it had hit her. She had forgotten to kill Magnussen. She had a vague memory of knocking him out, just like she reflexively did with the bodyguard and Janine. She had been so full of adrenaline, so focused on Sherlock, that she had completely lost track of her assignment. And now Magnussen had a hold on her. The most notorious blackmailer in England had her in his pocket. She had almost groaned in shame as she put on the oversized coat that she had hid behind a dumpster and stuffed her black knitted cap in its pocket. This was Janine's fault, Mary decided. She should have stayed in her boss’s chair. She wasn’t cut out for undercover work.

Mary sighed and scratched her itching belly. She did not like to think about that night, but the memory kept popping up at unexpected times. Magnussen was gone now, and in a week, Sherlock would be gone too. She couldn't wait. Now there was only Janine standing in her way. Working with Janine had many advantages, but Mary would forever be in her shadow. If they were both going to work in London, Mary was going to have to either build her business under Janine's wings, or go into conflict with her. She didn't much feel like either option, but right now avoiding conflict seemed like a good idea. Maybe she would feel different once the baby was born and stopped sucking the energy out of her, she thought and pushed the heel of her hand into the side of her belly to stop the baby from kicking at her ribs. “Come on, turn you little mongrel,” she sighed. The baby did what she asked, for once, and her belly wobbled as it turned, bottom, head and feet pushing in three different directions. It settled with the head under her ribs and its feet kicking into her bladder. Groaning, Mary pushed herself up to go to the loo.

Once she was back on the couch again, Mary reached for her tablet and pulled up John’s old blog to distract herself until the baby settled. The second post was called The Blind Banker. She had never read that one, so she clicked on it and started reading. 

The story was a mess and John really did leave all the relevant details out, just as Sherlock kept complaining. But the main concept was still visible behind all his ramblings about chinese opera singers and his dating life. Someone was using a shop as a basis for a smuggling operation. That was actually not a bad idea, Mary thought. Something to think about, once the baby was out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock went to Magnussen's offices to try to burgle him, he first found Janine unconscious after a blow to her head and then found Mary threatening Magnussen with a gun. When Sherlock didn't back off, Mary shot him.
> 
> Janine visited Sherlock in hospital and told him about making so much money off selling interviews to the papers about their fictional sex life, that she had been able to buy a cottage in Sussex.
> 
> After Janine's visit, Sherlock escaped from the hospital and set up the meeting in Leincester Gardens, where he tricked Mary into admitting that she had shot him, so that John found out directly from Mary.
> 
> John and Mary were estranged for a few months, but reunited at Christmas in Sherlock's parents cottage. After their reunion, Mary was drugged, as was Mycroft and Mr and Mrs Holmes, and Sherlock and John snuck off to try to bargain with Magnussen. Sherlock's plan backfired and he ended up shooting Magnussen in the head in front of Mycroft and a full armed response team. 
> 
> Mycroft negotiated a deal where Sherlock, instead of going to prison, could go on a mission for MI6. Mycroft had mentioned this mission to Sherlock earlier, and suggested that he decline since it was expected to be fatal within six months.


	3. Taking a hike

_December 30, 2014_

“Mary, this closet is bursting! We need to get rid of something.”

Mrs Hudson had knitted baby clothes large enough for a one year old, so John had put them in a box to stow away for now. He was holding it over his head, which made him look like one of those Minecraft figures in the dim light of the corridor.

“Mmhm.”

“You’ve never used this pink sleeping bag since we met, have you? Do you really need to keep it? Hiking isn’t really our thing.”

“Leave it where it is,” Mary said vaguely while she felt her thoughts jump from sleeping bags to hiking boots to buying camping gear to an outdoors store. That would actually be a good idea, using an outdoors store as a front for a smuggling operation. Especially if she could find a way to make the travellers return to the store after their journey. A repair shop, perhaps? To fix boots and backpacks after the journey - and remove goods hidden in the lining. And maybe a web shop as well, for digital transactions, somehow.

John sighed loudly and put the box down on the floor. “I don’t know where to put this. It just won’t fit.”

How on earth was she supposed to think a thought to its end, when John kept interrupting with all these domestic details? Mary felt like groaning aloud, but that would probably be a bad idea, considering their tentative truce. She was going to have to keep it together, at least until Sherlock had left on his suicide mission. She stopped folding the infant-sized baby clothes and dropped them on the bed. “My back is killing me. I’m going for a walk.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“A slow, waddling walk once around the block. Send out a search party if I’m not back in an hour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pink sleeping bag appears in the A Better Class of Criminal, the first fic in the series Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary.


	4. Two steps back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary takes place during His Last Vow, The Abominable Bride and The Six Thatchers. To make sense of this fic, you need to have seen these episodes. If your memories are a bit vague, check the notes at the end of the chapter for the relevant information from the show.

_January 2, 2015_   
_After The Abominable Bride_

Mary slammed the car door shut and stared out of the front window at the small airplane standing still and useless on the tarmac. They were all returning to London, and for some reason, Sherlock had to travel with her and John instead of in Mycroft’s car. Apparently, it was necessary to return to Baker Street, as if that ratty place held the keys to the mysteries of the world. Mary snorted, thinking how useless a Victorian flat was against the Moriarty empire. John and Sherlock just wanted to return to their bachelor pad.

She had always assumed that John and Sherlock had been lovers, since John had been inconsolable over Sherlock’s death. But when Sherlock returned, it was obvious that she had been mistaken. She had thought it would be fine, that they were just mates. People had mates, right? They still got married and lived happily ever after. She had thought it would work, and John was so perfect. It had seemed a shame to throw him away for having a friend.

As the wedding got closer, it became more and more obvious that John was drawn to Sherlock like a moth to a flame. He kept going along with him on cases, night after night and sometimes for days on end. That was when she should have stepped back, but she just didn’t want to lose him. Instead, she tied herself to the sinking ship, arranging a pregnancy with a little help from a friend. Perhaps that had been a bad idea too.

Mary kept her eyes on the road as they pulled away from the airfield and tried not to notice the driver to her right, or her husband and his indestructible friend in the back seat. The discreet driver was easy to ignore, but John and Sherlock were not, with their incessant chatter back and forth.

John was fussing over Sherlock. He had pretended that he wasn’t scared, that he didn’t understand that Sherlock’s mission was lethal. Now that the digital ghost of Moriarty had called the plane back to earth and the danger was temporarily over, all his anxiety came pouring out. He seemed to have decided to channel it equally into concern over Sherlock’s drug overdose and into Moriarty’s return. And since he couldn't help being John, his care came with a hefty dose of anger. He was becoming increasingly tedious. Sherlock was trying to bear it with good grace, but Mary could hear that he was about to snap. John seemed to sense it too, and tried for levity.

“So, is this the great game all over again? Is he going to start sending you poisoned shoes next?”

“The shoes weren't poisoned, John, it was the eczema cream on his fingers that left residue on his shoes,” Sherlock said, the don't be stupid heavily implied. “And I told you, Moriarty is dead.”

What was John talking about? Poisoned shoes? Oh, yes. Moriarty’s game that led to the night at the pool, where Mary saw John and Sherlock for the first time, back when she was still called Amira. She sighed and turned her head to look out of the side window over the rolling fields.

The pool was where she had made her first mistake. Maybe she should have walked away when Sherlock came back. Maybe she shouldn't have arranged a pregnancy as leverage. But to start with, she should never have succumbed to the romantic notion that in order to be truly happy, she needed a life partner that looked at her the way John Watson looked at Sherlock Bloody Holmes.

Mary twisted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position that didn't push the baby up into her stomach. She waited for John to start fussing, asking if she was alright, but nothing came. He was still focused on Sherlock. This was intolerable. She was supposed to finally be rid of Sherlock and start the life she had planned all along. Maybe she should poison his shoes, she thought and stifled a laugh.

Hm. Poisoned shoes. That would actually be a nice side business in her outdoors store. No, not poisoned shoes. Poisoned soles, that could be slipped into any shoe. Much more practical.

“Where are we going now? Baker Street? What is your plan?” John said.

“I'm going to have a bath,” Sherlock said and shut his mouth with a click.

Withdrawal, Mary thought to herself with satisfaction. It would have to do for now, since no poisoned footwear was available. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of His Last Vow, Sherlock flies away on his death mission, but the plane is called back when a film clip of Jim Moriarty is shown on screens all over the country. In The Abominable Bride, Mycroft, John and Mary enter the plane to find that Sherlock took drugs before the plane left and is in a drug dream. The episode ends with them leaving the plane and Sherlock goes with John and Mary to the car.


	5. These boots are made for walking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary takes place during His Last Vow, The Abominable Bride and The Six Thatchers. To make sense of this fic, you need to have seen these episodes. If your memories are a bit vague, check the notes at the end of the chapter for the relevant information from the show.

_October 3, 2015_   
_At the same time as John, Sherlock and Lestrade visit the Welsborough family and find out about the first smashed Margaret Thatcher bust._

The espresso machine hissed as the barista steamed milk for the next latte in the long line of coffee drinks that kept the city going. It was a fitting sound effect to Mary's facial expression, Janine thought. Mary was shifting in her seat, trying not to hold Rosie too hard in her anger. She kept handling the child like a doll, as if she kept forgetting that it was a real child, Janine thought.

“Of course it can be done, Janine!” Mary said. The woman at the table next to them turned her head at the commotion and Mary seemed to realise that she had raised her voice. She moved Rosie to her hip and leaned forward across the table. “You know it’s a good plan. It’s a great plan. And lucrative, as well. So the problem must be me. You don’t want me to do it. And now that you are the queen of London, you’re enjoying the power of saying no.”

Janine leaned back in her seat and watched Mary rise and wrangle Rosie back into the pram, pushing the cap on her head and stuffing the blanket around her kicking legs. She started wheeling the pram out of the café, bumping into the legs of the chairs at the table next to them.

Janine stretched out an arm and put her hand on the handle. “It’s not you, Mary. It’s the company you keep. Sherlock is too clever. Plus, you’ve got ghosts in your past. It’s just too risky.”

Mary leaned down close to Janine’s ear and whispered “You owe me, Janine. You butched up that Magnussen job and I have been living with the consequences for months now. You owe me a better future than this.”

“Fine, I owe you,” Janine said. “But this plan of yours is just too risky. It will have to keep.”

Mary yanked the pram away from Janine’s grip and walked away. Janine watched her leave as she took another sip of her coffee. Mary was getting restless. It was a good thing she had a baby to keep her occupied. It would probably be a good idea to keep an eye on her, though, Janine thought to herself.

  
  
…

 

_“These boots are made for walking. And that's just what they'll do. One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you.”_ Yup, she was going to walk all over Janine one day. Just you wait and see.

Singing always made Mary feel better when she was angry, as long as she didn’t listen too closely to her own voice. Also, the rhythm made it easier to get through these interminate dishes. God, she hated housework.

“Hello!” John yelled from the door. “What is happening?”

Mary stopped singing abruptly. No need for an audience.

She could hear his steps as he walked into the kitchen, his gait uneven from the shopping bag with the diapers and the cream that she had asked him to pick up. He suddenly stopped and drew a quick breath.

“Hey, sweetie, what's wrong?” he cooed and dropped the bag to the floor. Mary turned around to see him bend down and scoop Rosie up from her blanket on the floor. “She is all sweaty, how long has she been crying?”

Mary quickly schooled her face into a concerned and surprised expression. “Oh, she just started. She was trying to reach a toy and I didn’t want to rush in and do it for her. It’s not good for them, you know, they need to be allowed to express their frustration without us swooping in and taking over.”

John looked sceptical and bent down over the baby in his arms. “There, little one. It’s all right now.”

Anger flared in Mary’s belly. “Do you really think it is a good idea to show up for the last …” she made a show of checking the clock on the wall “... hour of your daughter’s day and question my parenting skills?!”

John’s posture stiffened as Mary stared him down.

“I’m not questioning …”

“Yes, you are. Are these the roles we are to play now? I get to be bad Mummy and you get to swoop in after your little adventures with Sherlock and tell her that everything’s ok now that Daddy is home? I don’t think so.”

Mary suddenly realised that she had walked very close to John and that she was dripping suds on the floor from the dish brush. He was staring at her and holding Rosie close, almost shielding her. Time to cool down.

“So tell me about the case, then,” Mary said, turning back to the dishes. “What happened at the Welsborough’s? The kid was hiding in the car, right?”

“Yes,” John said, frowning like he always did when confused and surprised. “How did you know?”

Mary shrugged. “Two kinds of vinyl. Sounded like a disguise to me.”

“Yes, it was. He had tried to prank his father but died from some sort of seizure before revealing himself. Everyone thought that he was in Tibet, so he wasn't discovered until the car crash made the car burn and his cover melted.”

“Sherlock is happy, then?”

“Yes and no. The kid in the car was almost too boring to explain, apparently, but he became completely obsessed by the fact they had been burgled recently and the thief didn't take anything, he only smashed a bust of Margaret Thatcher.”

Mary felt frozen on the spot, but when she looked down, her hands were still washing dishes. That’s the beauty of agent training, she thought. Your body knows what to do even when your mind goes blank. Most of the time, anyway. “Really,” she said lightly. “That’s odd.”

John kept bouncing Rosie on his hip as he talked about the case, about how they were stumbling around the crime scene and how he and Lestrade were following Sherlock around like puppies as usual. Mary made interested noises now and then and ignored his ramblings. The Thatcher statues. Where had she seen them? It was not like her to forget things. She really needed to get more sleep at night. It was time to stop giving her the night bottle.

“... and then he left in the only car, leaving me and Lestrade to fend for ourselves, as usual.”

Fending for oneself … Tbilisi! There was a workshop next to the embassy. When they were preparing for the assignment to free the hostages, Gabriel had checked the area out and identified the workshop next door as a possible escape route. He had said that they made ceramic busts of famous people, Margaret Thatcher among them. She remembered Alex swearing about the mine strikes. He always got worked up about politics.

Rosie was getting restless in John’s arms. She looked like she might start screaming again, Mary thought.

“Give her a bottle will you? I’m going for a walk.” Mary stuck her feet in her old sneakers and slammed the door behind her.

…

  
Forty minutes later Mary opened the front door. Music was swelling from the tv and a voice was saying “There and Back Again, by Bilbo Baggins”. John had taken to watch Lord of the Rings on repeat as he fed Rosie, letting her fall asleep on his chest while he got lost in the mountains of Narnia or whatever the place was called. She supposed that it was some sort of balm for his frayed new father nerves.

The air in the hallway held the unmistakable scent of Sherlock's hair products and Mary pinched her lips in annoyance. As expected, it only took a moment for him to stick his nose in.

Sherlock’s head appeared through the doorway. “You’ve been taking a trip down memory lane, I see, Mary.”

“What?” John said from the living room.

“She’s wearing her old shoes,” Sherlock called back. “Her new sneakers are standing by the door, but instead she chose her old ones, the ones she uses for gardening. A sudden desire to go for a walk, in old, cast off shoes, indicates a trip down memory lane.”

Mary stared at the back of Sherlock’s head and gritted her teeth. There was no privacy in his presence, no detail too small to be uncovered and carelessly exposed.

Taking a deep breath, Mary walked through the living room and went up to their bedroom. As she walked up the stairs, she called back “I'm taking a shower. Get takeout will you? I don't want to cook.”

As she stood under the spray, Mary decided that it was time to get real. No more slouching about in a baby bubble. If someone was smashing Thatcher busts, there might be a connection to that fateful operation in Georgia that ended her career as a freelance government agent. If that was the case, she needed to shape up. It could be nothing, though, so it was probably best to sit still and avoid creating suspicion.

But whether the ghosts from her past were to rise again or not, it was clear that there would never be a future for her as long as Sherlock Holmes was around. The question was, should she remove Sherlock from hers and John’s life, or should she remove herself from John and Sherlock? And how?

She could always try to kill Sherlock again, or discredit him somehow, but he had been astonishingly resistant to both those strategies in the past.

She could divorce John and try to establish a distant relationship with him, but with joint custody so that she could be free to manage her business while he took care of Rosie. But there was no way to stay involved in John’s life in any capacity without being spied upon by Sherlock or his tattered homeless network. No. There would be even less privacy that way.

The third option would be to tell John about Rosie’s real father and how she planned the pregnancy to make sure John stayed with her and didn’t go off with Sherlock. That would certainly make him leave for good and never look back, but then she would be a single mother with a small child. Running a successful criminal business was difficult enough, but doing it while dependent on paid babysitters, would be nigh impossible. She needed to find a better solution, the question was what.

Mary stepped out of the shower and dried off quickly. She dug in the back of the closet for the loosest pair of trousers from before the pregnancy and a new, black sweater that managed to look polished while at the same time hiding her still wobbling tummy. Wearing black always made her feel more like herself. It was time to get back to business, even if the only item on tonight's agenda was takeout.

A little extra protection from the ghosts of her past could be nice while she contemplated the problems of her future, Mary decided. She sat down on the bed, picked up her telephone and pulled up Janine’s contact to send her a text.

_Ghosts may be rising. Keep your eyes open._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In The Six Thatchers, Lestrade brings Sherlock and John in on a case, where a young man is inexplicably found dead in his car that was parked at his parents’ house when someone accidentally crashes into it and it catches fire. The man was supposed to be in Tibet, not sitting in his car. Sherlock deduced that he had lied about still being in Tibet to play a prank on his father on his birthday a week earlier. The son hid behind a fake car seat cover, told his father over the phone to go out to the car and had planned to jump out from behind the cover and surprise him, but died of some unexpected seizure before the father came to the car. The car was not in use and the cover was so well made that no one noticed his body until the car was investigated after the fire. 
> 
> When John and Sherlock arrive at the Welsborough’s house, Mary calls John and asks him to pick up a few things at the store. She asks about the case and says that John texted her the details earlier. 
> 
> Sherlock solves the case immedieately, but is fascinated by the fact that someone has broken in to smash a bust of Margaret Thatcher.
> 
> Later in the episode, we are shown in flashbacks how Mary’s career as a freelance agent ended: a failed attempt to free hostages at the embassy in Tblisi, where her colleagues were presumed dead, but one of them survived, Ajay. He was taken prisoner but before he was caught, he managed to hide his memory stick in a bust of Margaret Thatcher in a workshop next to the embassy. He has finally escaped, is convinced that Mary sold them out and is looking for revenge.


	6. Ghosts rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary takes place during His Last Vow, The Abominable Bride and The Six Thatchers. To make sense of this fic, you need to have seen these episodes. If your memories are a bit vague, check the notes at the end of the chapter for the relevant information from the show.

_October 6, 2015_

_After Sherlock fought Ajay and found the A.G.R.A. memory stick_

Mary’s phone pinged and she grabbed it from the kitchen table with her left hand while cradling Rosie with her right arm, using her chin to hold the bottle. She was expecting another unnecessary update from John about his progress through the London rush hour traffic, but instead the message was from Sherlock.

_A.G.R.A. has returned. Meet me in the vault under St Andrew’s at midnight. SH_

All the unfinished ideas for her future that had been bouncing around her mind lately suddenly sorted themselves into neat little piles: impossible, ineffectual, and too late. If one of the other agents from the A.G.R.A. team was back from the dead, they were going to be out to get her. Theoretically, they could be planning blackmail, but knowing them as she did, killing her in revenge was much more likely. If she wanted a chance to salvage any of her grand plans, she was going to have to take them out before they could hurt her.

She couldn't do it in London, not with Rosie in tow and with Sherlock nosing about. She was going to have to leave. The question was how to throw Sherlock off the scent so that he didn't follow.

Rosie started fussing in Mary’s arms and she looked down. The bottle was empty and Rosie was turning her head back and forth to get away from the teat. Mary sighed. “You were supposed to fall asleep,” she said. “Come on, now. I have to figure out a way to get rid of both A.G.R.A. and uncle Sherlock. Go to sleep and let me think.”

Rosie screwed up her eyes and wailed. Mary clenched her teeth and lifted her up, carefully avoiding clenching her hands as well. Getting pregnant really had been a monumental mistake.

As she walked Rosie up and down the corridor outside her room, the only thing that ever put her to sleep when she didn't want to, Mary considered her options and the possible scenarios ahead. She tried to stay focused on A.G.R.A., but thoughts of Sherlock and his nosy deductions kept intruding.

Eventually, Rosie fell into a restless slumber. Mary carefully put her down in her cot and tiptoed out of the room. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. A.G.R.A. and Sherlock. She wished that she could get rid of them both at once.

Mary opened her eyes wide. Of course! That was the solution! Go away, wait for Sherlock to follow and take out both him and A.G.R.A. at the same time. If she was lucky, she might even manage to make it look like they killed each other.

She pulled out her phone and texted Janine.

_Ghost from the past has risen. I’m going underground. Attempting to get rid of the clever company at the same time._

_What are you playing at? That is an incredibly stupid idea!_

_I’ll contact you when I’m back._

Putting her phone back in her pocket, she went to the bedroom, lifted the carpet in the corner and pulled up the loose floor board. She needed a letter for John, a drug to put Sherlock to sleep and her kit with passport, money and the key to her locker with getaway gear. She was going to have to get everything ready before Rosie woke up. Babies really were an incredible nuisance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Lestrade gets more cases of break ins where busts of Margaret Thatcher have been smashed, Sherlock figures out that someone is looking for something hidden in one of the busts. He traces the last remaining bust to a private home, hides there, fights Ajay for the bust, smashes it and finds the memory stick. The police arrive and Ajay flees. 
> 
> In the next scene, Mary meets Sherlock in a room under what looks like a church and we understand that he has texted her to meet her there. He asks her about her past and she tells him about A.G.R.A. and the events at the embassy in Tblisi, but then gives him a paper to read that has been drugged, so that he falls asleep and she flees. 
> 
> As we get to see Mary flee through different countries, we hear a voice over of her reading a letter to John aloud, telling him that she is leaving for their safety and that she will return.


	7. A bad plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary takes place during His Last Vow, The Abominable Bride and The Six Thatchers. To make sense of this fic, you need to have seen these episodes. If your memories are a bit vague, check the notes at the end of the chapter for the relevant information from the show.

_October 17, 2015_   
_After Mary fled to Morocco_

Mary took the last steps up the stairs and turned into the hotel corridor outside her room. On the other side of her door, faint voices could be heard. Finally, she thought to herself. The curtain rises. She pulled out her gun and sneaked closer, listening intently.

“Mr. Baker. Well, that completes the set.”

Mary suddenly realised who Sherlock was talking to. Not someone from A.G.R.A., but the young, clever boy working in the sleepy hotel. They were playing cards, of all things.

Mary put her gun away and took a breath. Show time.

After Sherlock had sent Karim away for tea and Mary had feigned surprise, she giggled at Sherlock’s showing off and got ready to start explaining her plan that would, hopefully, surreptitiously, lead to the death of both Sherlock and A.G.R.A. At least she had gotten off to a good start.

“In the memory stick!” she said, spinning the conversation out a little longer, waiting for the right moment to change the subject

“Yeah, that was my idea.” John entered the room with a serious look on his face.

Mary felt the blood drain from her face. John! Why was he here? Why wasn't he with Rosie? She had known that he kept following Sherlock into all kinds of trouble, but never in a thousand years could she have imagined that he would leave a seven months old baby alone in London and go chasing after trained assassins. The imbecile! Mary took a deep breath and put on a neutral face for her husband.

...

Ajay was dead. The good news was that he had been shot by the local police after barging into her hotel room waving a gun around, which meant that she, John and Sherlock conveniently became victims of a crime instead of suspects. The policeman had been more than willing to overlook the fact that she and John both had been pointing guns at Ajay. A a financial token of appreciation for saving their lives had paved the way, but Mary suspected that Karim’s enthusiastic vouching for hers and Sherlock’s character had helped a bit too.

The bad news was that while Ajay was eliminated, Sherlock was very much alive. Also, Ajay had given Sherlock a lot of unnecessary information about Mary's past and about the fateful mission in Tbilisi where he was captured. Sherlock had thrown himself at the new facts like a starving man at a feast, and he had already called Mycroft, thinking that Lady Smallwood was the traitor. He was ludicrously wrong, of course, but having Sherlock stomping around in her past was a disaster waiting to happen. She wasn't sure what the fallout would be if he and John found out how much money she and Norbury had made on the side, thwarting operations that some interested party with a large wallet wanted stopped.

Now, Sherlock was on the phone smoothing out the final wrinkles with the authorities in what appeared to be fluent Arabic. John was also on the phone, trying to get airplane tickets home. It seemed difficult, and he was constantly being put on hold. His scowl was deepening by the minute and Mary was expecting him to start kicking the furniture at any moment.

Mary kept herself as far from the others as she could, packing her small case and checking her hiding places for guns and money. She was nursing an unexpected anger herself. While waiting for the police to sort out their papers, John had wanted a heart to heart. For some reason, he had felt compelled to admit to cheating on her. The revelation had come as a complete surprise to Mary and it had cut her to the core. He was supposed to be her companion, her husband. He had promised. The betrayal burned like bitter, oversteeped tea at the back of her throat. She tried to push the feeling away, but it kept coming back, making her nauseous.

The lid of the suitcase wouldn’t close, so Mary put her knee on it to squeeze it shut. This is me now, she thought. I have to squeeze myself back into Mary Watson, and I don’t know if I can do it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Mary has drugged Sherlock and fled, we see her take on different personas, fleeing through a number of countries. Eventually she is Morocco but when she enters her hotel room, Sherlock and John are there. Ajay turns up, he tells them about how his torturers told him about the code word “Amo” and how they said that the English woman betrayed them. Ajay thought the English woman was Mary. Ajay and Mary are holding each other at gunpoint, but Ajay is shot by a policeman that turns up unexpectedly. 
> 
> Sherlock thinks that the code name “Amo” stands for “Love”, Lady Smallwood’s code name. He calls Mycroft, who has her brought in for questioning.
> 
> Before Ajay turned up, John and Mary were talking about their relationship and John hinted that he had lied to Mary, but he never said out loud that he had cheated. Later, we see the three of them on a plane back to London. John and Mary are sitting far apart, looking away from each other, while we are given flashbacks that show how John flirted and texted with “E”. In my mind, John told Mary about cheating before they left and this is why they are so distant on the plane.


	8. Shoot me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary takes place during His Last Vow, The Abominable Bride and The Six Thatchers. To make sense of this fic, you need to have seen these episodes. If your memories are a bit vague, check the notes at the end of the chapter for the relevant information from the show.

_ October 18, 2015 _

Outside the taxi window, Marrakech was crawling past, as they made their way through the city traffic gridlock. Mary was glad that she had insisted on leaving early. John seemed to think that his experiences in Afghanistan made him an expert on overseas transportation, but he kept forgetting that getting through traffic in a regular taxi was quite different from barging through in a military vehicle. 

They were sitting as far away from each other as possible in the back seat, trying to maintain a polite civility while letting the events of the last days settle. Handling the local police and arranging tickets home had kept them occupied until now, and it seemed best to not try chit chatting just yet. 

In the front seat, Sherlock was staring straight ahead, muttering to himself. It sounded like “Amo”, as if he was repeating what Ajay had told them about his torture at the hands of the hostage takers. Mary strained her ears.

“Amo is an agent’s code name. Who gave orders? Who knew about the orders?”

Mary felt her heart sink in her chest. The bloodhound had picked up the scent. It was only a matter of time before he regretted telling his brother to arrest Lady Smallwood and started going after the real culprit: Norbury, the secretary. And then all her carefully constructed lies over the past weeks would come falling apart. Mary sighed, the humid night air feeling sticky in her lungs. 

There was nothing else for it. She couldn’t take out Sherlock when he was in the middle of an investigation into her own background, that would raise too much suspicion. She was going to have to make a run for it - properly this time.

Mary took another deep breath, but this time, the air flowed freely in her lungs and that clichéd expression about a stone falling from your chest suddenly made sense. Yes. This was the only thing to do. It was the right thing to do. She was going to leave this Sherlockian mess behind and make a fresh start.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. It was time for a few quick, life-altering decisions.

 

\---

 

The taxi pulled up to the airport entrance and the driver scrambled out, trying to get to the boot and extract their bags before they could do it themselves and cut into his tips. She left John and Sherlock to handle payment and started walking towards the sliding doors.

“I need the loo. I’ll meet you at the check in.”

The habit of memorising buildings was very handy, she thought to herself as she quickly navigated to the ladies’ toilet behind the café, where there was a secluded nook with good acoustic conditions. She should be able to make her calls here without being overheard. 

Mary pulled out her burner phone and dialled Janine.

“Yes?”

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Well, hello, adventurer. Still alive, I take it?”

“Yes, but I need your help. The ghost is gone, but the clever company is still here. The not so clever company decided to come with him, which messed up the plan.”

“Bad plans do tend to get messed up.”

“Don’t gloat. I want to call in that favour you owe me.”

 

…

 

Janine leaned back in her desk chair in her office and turned her phone over in her hand, considering her options. Mary’s request was indeed unusual, but Janine could see the point. It would be nice to have a little extra information about the situation before she committed herself, though.

She tapped the discreet blue icon in the corner of the screen to open the app that automatically attempted to tap any phone that had rung her number. Good, Janine thought, as she saw the red phone symbol blinking next to the number at the top of the list. It seemed that Mary was just making her next call, and the app had made the right connections. Janine tapped the symbol to listen.

“Norbury.”

“This is Rosie from A.G.R.A. Can you talk?” 

Rosie. So that was her name. Well, probably not her real name, but still. She had been called Amira when Janine got to know her, but she switched to Mary when she put up her new undercover persona.

“Yees … I can,” Norbury said slowly. “What has happened?”

“You are about to be found out, and there is no time to run,” Mary said.

Janine was a bit impressed with Mary's confident voice. She managed to sound both authoritative and likeable at the same time. Those are good qualities if you want to keep someone on the line while you tell them uncomfortable things.

“How do you know?” Norbury said. 

“I know the person who is on to you and I know what he is going to do next.”

“All right. So why are you telling me?”

“Because it is too late for any of your contingency plans. You are a very smart woman, Ms Norbury, and you know that you are not an adventurer. Also, I know of approximately ten other schemes that you had going back then and I have access to concrete evidence for at least five of them. If I were to give this information to the authorities, there would be no corner of the earth where you could hide in comfort. You would spend the rest of your life on the run.” 

Mary paused. “I have a proposition for you. This is the only deal you are going to get, and I suggest that you take it.”

“Why should I do that?”

“If you help me out, I will set you up with a lenient sentence and a cushy black market opportunity for whatever short time you have to serve in prison.”

Norbury was silent for a moment. This is the decisive moment, Janine thought. 

“And what would I have to do?” Norbury said. 

There you go! Janine found herself rooting for Mary despite herself. She was a strangely likeable creature, despite her temper and her manipulative nature. 

“You are going to be approached by a man called Sherlock Holmes, who is currently trying to figure out who is behind your code name Amo,” Mary said. “He will seek you out for a confrontation, but he will want to keep a low profile to start with and he will want to include me, because he believes that I don’t know who you are. Therefore, he will not go through the authorities. This means that he will approach you at some point during the day when you are not at the office. Do you have any routine that he might uncover and use to approach you?”

Norbury was silent again. Finally, she said “On Fridays, I usually visit the London Aquarium on my way home.”

“Good .  Friday is tomorrow, so he will probably go for the aquarium if he figures it out in time, but we can’t be sure.”

“What is it that you want me to do?”

“I want you to shoot me.”

 

...

 

Janine had originally planned to meet a friend for a glass of wine, but since he was more a friend of the “potential asset” kind  than a friend of the “potential date” kind, it hadn’t felt like hardship to cancel. She poured herself a single glass of red wine, placed it on the side table and sat down on the sofa, tucking her feet to the side and spreading the skirt over her naked toes. Poking Mycroft Holmes was one of her favourite hobbies anyway. They had a sort of truce, so she needed to be careful, but this time she had something juicy to offer him in return. She dialled the number and waited for the line to connect. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello, Mycroft. Janine here. I have a proposition for you.”

“How did you get this number?”

“That’s the wrong question, Mycroft. You should be focusing on  _ why  _ I have called you on your private number at the precise moment when you are at home, have decided to stop working for the night but you have not yet gone to bed.”

Mycroft’s one second hesitation told Janine that she had got his attention. 

“All right, what do you want?”

“I am going to solve a problem for you, and you are going to make sure that everyone is looking in the other direction while I do so.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you really want this problem solved. And if you mess with me, I have some interesting information about your interactions with Magnussen that the public would love to read about.”

“Trying to become the new Magnussen, are you, Ms Hawkins? Going into publishing?”

“You know I’m not. You know who I am and who my brother was and how much havoc our family has already wreaked on yours. So don’t play stupid. I am going to solve a problem for you and for your dear brother Sherlock, so I suggest that you start listening.”

“Very well. What is this problem and what is your solution to it?”

“The problem is Mary. She is the main reason for your brother’s recent lapses into drugs and murder, and the situation is only getting worse. Sherlock has no defenses against Mary’s brand of manipulation and neither does John. And without John, Sherlock crumbles. Also, you and she have a history that makes her a liability to you too. The solution is simple: she wants out. I am going to help her and you are going to make sure that all relevant eyes are looking in the other direction.”

“I see. And what is it that they are supposed to not look at?”

“She is going to fake her death through a staged gunshot wound, in the presence of Sherlock. I am going to provide an ambulance and a substitute corpse. You are going to make sure that all other ambulances are kept away, that the corpse is taken to cremation with minimum fuss and keep nosy detectives and policemen away.”

“She is doing it in front of Sherlock? That seems terribly risky.”

“Well, apparently things are going to come to a head quite soon, which leaves her no other option. The good thing is, if she manages to fool Sherlock, the rest will follow his lead,” Janine said. “Actually, if you could appear convinced as well, that would be great. Sherlock always thinks you are the smartest person in the room, so if you don’t seem to notice anything amiss, he will stop looking as well.”

“I’m not certain that is true, but very well. I will divert resources and attentions as necessary, and seem appropriately convinced by the display.”

“Very good, Mycroft. There is just one more thing.”

“Of course there is,” Mycroft sighed.

“You are going to make sure that the shooter gets a lenient sentence. Age, stress, undue pressure and all that.”

“I couldn't possibly pervert the course of justice.”

“I know that you can and that you do. Stop playing coy, Mycroft. This is the best solution for everyone and you know it.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. It is a pleasure doing business with you.”

“I can’t say the same, unfortunately. Good night, Ms Hawkins.”

“Good night, Mycroft.”

Janine took a sip of the wine and leaned her head back against the soft skin of the sofa. Dominating the alpha-males really was her favourite hobby. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After they arrive back in London, Sherlock figures out that the traitor is not Lady Smallwood, but the secretary Ms Norbury. He finds out that she can be found at the London Aquarium, sends texts to John and Mary and confronts Norbury at the Aquarium.


	9. Showtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary takes place during His Last Vow, The Abominable Bride and The Six Thatchers. To make sense of this fic, you need to have seen these episodes. If your memories are a bit vague, check the notes at the end of the chapter for the relevant information

_October 19, 2015_   
_After John and Mary receive texts from Sherlock telling them to come to the London Aquarium_

“I’ll call Molly!” John called after her as she slammed the door shut.

Yeah, right. There was no way Molly would accept another baby sitting assignment this soon. They had picked Rosie up just a few hours ago and Molly had looked absolutely exhausted. It was five o’clock on a Friday night. She was probably on her way out to drink herself stupid with her girlfriends.

Mary pulled out her phone and called Janine for the last time.

“Yes?”

“It’s time. Is everything in place?”

“Yes. You can pick up the gear and get going. There’s a little present in there for you as well. A packet with a version of that drug you used on Sherlock when you left for Morocco,” Janine said.

“How did you know about that?”

“The guy you bought it from works for me. Anyway. Just like that other one, this drug only works at very close range, but it doesn't make the person faint. It just blurs their vision and they get a bit confused, which comes in handy when you are trying to fool someone. So after you have been shot, when they try to give you first aid, crush the packet and wave your hand in front of their face, really close. Keep it away from your own face, of course.”

“That is really helpful. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“I’ve got to go get the gear now. Have the ambulance stand by about two minutes away from the London Aquarium. When they get the signal that the gun has been shot, they go in and tell reception that someone has reported a shooting.”

“OK. Listen, this is a secure line, right?”

“Of course it is secure. Who do you take me for?”

“Well, then.” Janine paused. “In such case, good bye, Mary. It's been fun working with you. I’m going to miss you.”

“Good bye, Janine. And thank you.” 

  
…

 

The blue light in the aquarium rippled over Sherlock's face, giving him an eerie glow as he spouted his arrogant deductions. If he didn’t stop talking soon, Norbury might get so furious that she forgot that her gun wasn't loaded with a regular bullet and tried to shoot him with it.

“Sherlock …” Mary tried.

He didn’t hear her.

“Sherlock, don’t …”

He kept talking and talking. God, the man had the biggest ego in London.

Mary heard footsteps behind them and sneaked a look over her shoulder. Mycroft, good. That would make the aftermath easier to handle.

More footsteps were heard behind Mycroft and the click of his umbrella. This time Mary turned her head properly to look. Why on earth had Mycroft brought Lestrade and a bunch of police officers with him? Was he going to blow her cover?

Mary looked back and forth between Sherlock, Norbury and Mycroft and felt her pulse racing. Sherlock was out of control, Norbury was out of control and she had no way of knowing if Mycroft was about to help her or arrest her. She could feel her instincts starting to take over, her fight or flight-response battling over which reaction should win. Get it together, Mary, you need to keep a clear head now!

She took a deep breath. Suddenly, she heard faint footsteps running in the distance. The sound was distorted by the concave glass walls of the aquariums, but she would know that slight limp anywhere. He always got it when he was stressed. John was coming.

Damn the man! It was probably he who had called Lestrade. And damn that obliging Molly! How could she accept taking Rosie again at such short notice, after having helped Mrs Hudson to take care of her for days.

Mary looked back at Norbury. A glint in her eye told Mary that she was about to shoot. Desperately, Mary threw herself towards Sherlock just as Norbury pulled the trigger. It wasn’t really possible to throw oneself in front of a bullet once it had been fired, but needs must. If Norbury fired the gun at Sherlock and Mary’s chest exploded with blood spatter while standing several feet to his side, even Lestrade might suspect some sort of trick.

The power of the explosion from the little device on her chest knocked the air out of Mary’s lungs in an undignified shout. She managed to land against a bench, which gave her a better view of the scene.

Sherlock started pressing down on the bloody hole in her shirt. Mary didn't have to fake her pained grimace as he leaned on her bruised ribs. She hoped that the blood pouch still contained a little more fake blood that could seep out.

While Sherlock turned to Mycroft to tell him to call for an ambulance, Mary crushed the drug packet in her hand and then waved it in front of Sherlock’s face as he turned back. His eyes immediately became unfocused and he began to stutter platitudes.

At that moment, John thundered into the little scene and started shouting and pressing even harder on her fake wound. Mary wasn't sure how long the drug would be effective, so she stroked her palm against his cheek near his mouth and nose, just to be on the safe side. He stared at her, his adrenaline pushing the effects of the drug away.

Mary didn't dare fake her collapse yet. She needed to seem alert enough to do some damage control. This death scene had way too many spectators. Right, it was time for the performance of a lifetime.

“God, John, I think this is it.”

It was laughingly easy to convince the drugged John that she was beyond help. She kept babbling nostalgic nonsense at John and Sherlock for as long as she could stomach it. Finally, she decided it was time to faint.

John pressed his fingers against her throat, checking her pulse, and she steeled herself against an attempt to wake her. Hopefully, the ambulance crew would be here soon.

But no shaking or slaps to her face came. Instead, he cradled her head and howled. Mary focused on keeping her breath slow and even to avoid detection. Had he really not felt her pulse? This new drug really was amazing.

There was a flurry of steps around her, but she didn't recognise the tread of anyone except Norbury. It must be the policemen taking her away.

Then, finally, the heavy, confident steps of paramedics could be heard echoing among the aquarium walls. Thank God. Her knights in not so shining armour had come to take her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Sherlock, John and Mary flew back from Morocco, Sherlock wandered around thinking about “Amo” until he realised who the real culprit was and found out that Norbury was at the London Aquarium. He sent texts to John and Mary, who were at home with Rosie. They both started to leave, but realised that they couldn't leave Rosie alone. John told Mary to go ahead while he called Molly. 
> 
> When Mary arrived at the aquarium, Sherlock was confronting Norbury. We see John in a taxi, calling someone. Next, Mycroft and Lestrade arrived on the scene with a few police officers. 
> 
> Sherlock taunted Norbury, who shot at him, but Mary threw herself in front of the bullet. Sherlock started pressing on the wound and told Mycroft to call an ambulance. Mycroft left. John arrived and Mary gave a speech before dying. The policemen took Norbury away and the scene ends with John blaming Sherlock for Mary's death.


	10. Escape

_ October 19, 2015 _

The ambulance screeched to a halt next to an alley where the street made a sharp turn, creating a dark corner that hid the entrance to the alley almost completely. The lamp over the nearest door was strategically broken. 

The doors at the back of the ambulance were quietly opened by Paramedic 1, as Mary had taken to silently calling him, since she had no idea what his name was. He peeked out and said “All clear.”

Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity. Paramedic 1 jumped out and met two men in dark clothes and caps who were wheeling out a gurney from the back of the alley. Paramedic 2 nudged Mary out of the ambulance and started pushing the ambulance’s gurney out into the street. The unexpected movement jolted her bruised ribs and she let out a small groan. She needed to take the pain into account when she moved. It wouldn’t do to look like she was hurt.

Mary clutched her backpack to her chest, jumped down and started walking as soon as her feet hit the ground. She almost lost her balance in the rush and when she put her hand out to steady herself, she accidentally brushed against the hand of the naked, nameless corpse that lay under the blanket. It was waiting to be dressed in Mary’s clothes and registered at a mortuary under the name of Mary Watson, née Morstan. An appropriate gunshot wound had been arranged after a brief telephone call from Paramedic 1 during the ambulance ride. The bullet lodged in the dead woman's chest matched the gun that the police had just taken from Norbury among the sharks in the aquarium. It wouldn't hold up for a real investigation, but as long as Mycroft did his job and no one looked too closely, it would pass. 

To avoid leaving fingerprints, Mary had put on thin leather gloves, so she couldn't feel if the body was warm or cold. She hoped they hadn't botched up the body temperature. Rigor mortis was terribly difficult to hide and made handling the corpse much more difficult. There was nothing to do about that now, though. The time for questions was over. She had to trust that Janine’s minions knew what they were doing. 

Mary hadn't managed to straighten her clothes properly in the rushed change in the back of the ambulance. Her shirt was tucked crookedly in the back, one of her socks had bunched up in the arch of her foot and the knitted cap itched. She didn't dare fix the inconveniences, as her escape depended on her ability to blend in so well in her surroundings that no one remembered her afterwards. Fidgeting made people memorable, so she slung the backpack over her shoulder, avoided wincing at the pain in her chest, walked without a limp and kept her back straight. 

Behind her, she heard the empty gurney scramble back into the alley, the ambulance doors slam shut and the running engine being put into gear. She turned into the next alley, hid in the darkness behind a dumpster and waited for the ambulance to leave. Its engine rumbled as it rolled away towards the mortuary. She stood perfectly still for a moment, listening for movement out in the street.  When all seemed still, she carefully peeked out behind the dumpster to check that the coast was clear, and then walked quickly to the back of the alley, where a heavy steel door had been left unlocked for her. With a last look over her shoulder, she snuck in and closed the door quietly behind her. 

The small, shabby office on the other side of the door was dimly lit by a screensaver showing holiday pictures from Ibiza. Mary took off her backpack and took out a bottle of water and a packet of paracetamol. She swallowed the pills and carefully navigated the dirty dishes in the sink in the little kitchenette to refill the bottle. 

Mary put the bottle back and brought out a grey, slouchy, knitted beret and a matching scarf. After straightening her shirt and pulling her sock up, she put them on, stuffed the knitted cap in her backpack, turned her reversible jacket inside out and put the backpack back on. 

Before leaving, she took the opportunity to use the bathroom. She was hoping for a quick and painless drive to the Eurotunnel and didn't want to have to make any unnecessary stops. As she washed her hands, she looked in the mirror and carefully tucked her hair away. She was no longer Mary Morstan and soon she would no longer be blond and quirky either. This was transition, she thought. Metamorphosis, or whatever it was called. A boyfriend in college had been into Kafka and he kept talking about people turning into insects. It was supposed to be a metaphor for change, but it had grossed her out back then and she still felt uneasy about beetles if they got too close.

Mary left the office through the stair hall of the building, exiting through the main entrance as if she was a resident in one of the many flats above, or perhaps a visitor. She hadn't prepared a cover story, there hadn't been time for that, but she felt confident of her ability to wing it. 

Mary walked along the road, keeping her head still, as if she was looking straight ahead, while her eyes scanned the street for the car. She fiddled with the key in her pocket, tracing the surface with her thumb to identify the button to unlock the car. 

The blue Toyota Yaris was parked next to a small fenced in garden. Mary waited until she was right next to it, almost hidden under the branches of a bush that stretched over the fence, before she unlocked the car, quickly slid into the driver's seat and locked the doors. It took only a moment to adjust the mirrors and put on the seat belt. Then she was off. 

The night was unusually warm and Mary was sweating under the warm woolly hat. She pulled it off, dragged the scarf from her neck and unzipped the jacket. Then she cracked the window open to let the autumn wind cool her off. 

If she had been a character in a film, this was the moment when she would have let her hair down and shaken her head to let her shiny locks dance in the wind. Instead, she pushed her hair behind her ears and kept her eyes on the road. She was once more completely alone, completely anonymous and the future was entirely unknown. She had walked this walk several times in her life, but never before had she appreciated what a gift it was to be allowed to start over. She was finally, totally, blissfully free. 


	11. Hiking boots

_ June 20, 2016 _

Janine put the tea cup down on its saucer and frowned at Alex, the young man who was attempting to be her assistant. “Hiking boots?”

“Yes!” he said excitedly. “Apparently, it’s the new thing in smuggling. They put the drugs, or the diamonds, or whatever is small in the sole of the boot.”

“Okay,” Janine said, unconvinced. “But why? They x-ray shoes on a lot of airlines.”

“Yes, I know,” he said desolately, as if he was doing an impression of Eeyore. 

Janine stifled a laugh. “So why hiking boots?”

“They have some sort of repair wizard who fits an invisible compartment into the shoe. No one knows how he does it. He is just that good.” Alex looked like someone who had lost all hope of ever being good at anything.

“Well, that’s useful for small stuff I suppose,” Janine tried to end the conversation.

Alex was immune to subtle hints and kept going. “They do larger stuff too. In backpacks, suitcases and such.”

It felt like a very small alarm clock was going off inside Janine’s brain. She had heard something about this before. But where?

“Where did you say they were based?”

“Somewhere in New England,” Alex said excitedly. “Let me check!” He pulled out his mobile and started swiping. 

Janine tried to boost her patience with another sip of tea. 

“Here we are! Arlington, Ma.” Alex furrowed his brow. “Isn’t Ma an odd name for a town?”

“MA. It’s short for Massachusetts,” Janine sighed. “Right, get back to work. We need to leave for Islington in twenty minutes and you haven’t got the paperwork ready yet, do you?”

Alex yelped and shot out of the room. He was going to have to get over himself and start focusing soon if he wanted to stay, Janine thought. 

She turned towards her computer and opened her search engine. She wrote “outdoors store arlington ma” in the search field and clicked Enter. Scrolling down, she found some sort of invitation to a store opening a few weeks ago. 

 

_ New outdoors store - Grand opening on May 5th! _

 

_ Welcome to the premiere opening of Arlington’s new outdoors store _

_ THERE AND BACK AGAIN _

_ Clothes, shoes and equipment for all your outdoor adventures  _

_ 201 Massachusetts Avenue, Arlington MA _

 

_ Special prizes on opening day only _

 

_ Premiere program May 5th _

_ 2 o’clock: Majestic beauty - Jen Howard, mountaineer, talks about her experiences on Mount Everest _

_ 3 o’clock: Backpack for life - Eddie Chang, repair wizard at There And Back Again, shows his best tricks for taking care of your gear on the go _

_ 4:00  Scout’s honour! Arlington Girl Guides show the best knots for travellers _

_ 5:00 Camping with kids - Hedda Smith shows her best tips for a great family holiday _

_ 6:00 Taking the photo of your life - nature photographer Nicky Snowdon shows photos from Serengeti and gives us her best tips for photographing animals  _

_ 7:00 Because the night belongs to lovers - the beauty of stargazing with Graham Steen from Astroscope _

 

_ There And Back Again offers a full range of outdoor equipment for all adventures in nature: clothes, shoes, boots, camping gear, skis, kayaks, and everything in between.The store also offers repairs to keep your gear in top shape for years to come.   _

 

Janine stared at the screen. Could it be … ? She opened another tab. A quick search for “there and back again”, “arlington” and “Massachusetts” led her to the Arlington Wicked Local news site. There, in vivid technicolor, was an almost but not entirely unrecognisable Mary. Her hair was dark and short, and slicked back with gel. Her eyes were lined with heavy black kohl and there seemed to be tattooes on her bare arms. She was wearing khakis, a sleeveless t-shirt and heavy hiking boots. The caption claimed that her name was Amy Morley and that the new store seemed to be a big success.

Janine leaned back in her chair and smiled. Mary had made it. She had really made it. 


End file.
